Here Today, Hell Tomorrow
by Parnassus
Summary: Set early S4: Tension has reached a boiling point between the brothers. When something happens to Sam, Dean is forced to remember what it was like before his trip downstairs.
1. Chapter 1

**Summary: The tension between the brother's is at a breaking point. When something happens to Sam, Dean is forced to remember what it was like before he took his trip downstairs. **

**Disclaimer: Not mine, blah blah...**

**A/N: In all unabashed honesty, this is just an excuse for some brotherly h/c/angst. Originally, it was supposed to be a one-shot but I suppose it'll have to be two. Enjoy! **

* * *

"Thanks, sweetheart."

Dean tossed a wink at the pretty little blonde behind the bar and took a gulp of his beer.

"No problem," she cooed, ruby lips puckering in appreciation. She leaned a little further over the counter giving Dean a generous view of her _very_ full breasts. _Had to be at least a D_, he smiled to himself. She tapped a carefully manicured nail on the counter in front of him. "If there's anything else I can do for you, just let me know."

"Will do," Dean smirked as she pushed back from the counter, squeezing her bottom lip between her teeth, and flouncing off with a serving tray.

Dean was sitting, nursing his drink and thinking about all of the glorious possibilities when he felt the vibration against his leg. He pulled out his cell and didn't know why he even bothered glancing at the caller ID. Though he had to admit, he was surprised Sam was calling. The tension had been suffocating, with both of them nearly at each other's throats the last few weeks. They needed a break. And Sam had as much as said he was sick of talking when Dean had stormed out of their motel room, earlier.

They hadn't exactly been each other's favorite people lately. What with Sam having developed a sudden disinterest in sharing certain nightly activities with the class, and Dean attempting to manage the Hell memories oozing out of his ears – didn't leave a whole lot of downtime for brotherly bonding.

Not that Dean minded. He didn't.

Sam had made it pretty damn clear he was Mr. Independent since Dean's "resurrection from perdition"...or whatever. In fact, these days, their conversations never really made it past awkward small talk and the occasional jab – and filling the holes were the heated arguments. The only normalcy was in the immersion of a job. Even then, Sam usually did his own thing, followed his own line of questioning, and seemed to consult with Dean only when absolutely necessary.

And it hurt more than he could admit to himself. Dean missed the little brother who trusted and looked up to him, who confided in him. The kid he could count on always having his back.

The brother he'd sold his soul for.

Lately, Dean felt like he was tearing at the seams – barely holding it together. So he drowned himself in booze and distracted himself with...well, other things, so he wouldn't have to feel the emptiness slowly devouring his soul – so he wouldn't have to face the truth that he might as well have never left that hole. _When had everything gotten so fucked up?_

_Well, when what was dead didn't stay that way. _

Probably a good thing Sam was taking care of himself these days. Dean rubbed his gritty eyes, sighing as he pressed the button.

"Yeah," he huffed, slightly annoyed his break was being interrupted.

There was no answer but Dean heard the sharp inhale on the other end.

"Sam, you there?"

No reply except the labored panting echoing from the speaker. The slight buzz evaporated almost immediately as Dean's instincts took over and he jumped to his feet, gripping the phone to his ear.

"Sam, can you hear me?"

Finally, he heard a thick, uncertain voice slurring his name from the other end, "D-…D'n?"

"Yeah, yeah, Sam, I'm here. What the hell's wrong with you?"

"I…uh…" Alarm bells clanged inside Dean's head at Sam's hesitancy, his mind spinning with a hundred horrible possibilities. "I don' know wha'-" Sam paused to swallow, "…where I am."

"You're not at our room?"

"I…I don' know…" Sam sounded confused, disoriented…drunk? "D'n? I don' know…" He heard Sam cough raggedly and the subsequent groan that followed.

"Okay, okay, I'm on my way." Dean sprinted outside and dug the keys out of his back pocket, phone pressed desperately to his ear. "Sam, are you hurt?"

"I-" He heard Sam gulping again. "H-head…hurts."

_Shit. _Dean took a deep breath, trying to calm the frantic beating of his heart. "Okay, Sam?"

Silence on the other end again.

"Sam? You hear me?" Dean practically shouted into the phone.

"Um, yeah…yeah." The sluggish response wasn't a good sign.

"Good, okay. Listen to me and focus. I need you to tell me what you see."

Sam had been on his laptop at the motel when Dean left. And he hadn't been at the bar for more than an hour. His brother couldn't have gone far.

"Um, t-trees?" Sam didn't sound at all sure of himself.

"Okay, anything else?" Dean tried again. "Any landmarks or buildings or-"

"Sign," Sam gasped. "'S by th'road."

"Try that one more time, bud?"

"'S a big sign, girl with…beer 'n…lo's of boobs."

Dean breathed a relieved sigh even as he suppressed a smile and leaned harder on the pedal. Because he knew exactly where Sam was. They had passed the very distinctive sign earlier when they'd been searching for a motel. So he was just off the interstate. The information passed through Dean's mind so quickly that he barely had time to follow it up with, _what the hell?_

"Okay, that's good, Sam." Dean hoped his voice sounded as calm as he was straining for. "Stay right where you are. I'm coming."

"'Kay," Sam whispered and Dean could've sworn his brother sounded relieved. But it quickly turned to panic when Sam's breathy voice began stuttering into the phone. "D- Dean? Wait…Dean?"

"Yeah, yeah, I'm here."

"D-don' go yet, 'kay?" His brother sounded so young. He was either drunk off his ass or he'd busted his head like a watermelon on cement. Dean desperately hoped for the first option.

"I'm not, Sam. I'm staying right here on the phone with you," Dean quietly assured.

"'Kay," Dean heard Sam swallowing again. "D'n?"

"Yeah, man."

"M'head hurts."

_Crap. _Sam didn't usually sound this confused when he was hammered. His little brother was a happy, sloppy drunk…but then again, things had changed.

"I know. I'll be there in a minute and we'll get you fixed up, all right?"

"Yeah…don' know where I am, though. Don' 'member getting here."

"That's okay, I can find you."

"Fuck, I can't 'member," Sam slurred.

"Hey, Sam? I need you to stay awake until I get there, all right? Keep your eyes open."

"Th'y are," Sam replied, sounding childishly petulant. Dean cracked a nervous smile. He was grateful to hear the familiar streak of obstinate stubbornness. At least some things hadn't changed.

There was another beat of silence and Dean thought he detected the rustle of leaves.

"D'n? Wh-where…you?" Sam's breaths were hitching all over the damn place.

"Almost there."

"Don' feel good…" His voice was thick and watery. Head injuries tended to drastically lower inhibitions with his little brother and Dean's fear spiked.

"I know, Sam. I'm gonna-" But his next reassurance was abruptly cut off when Sam started retching. _Shit._ Dean grimaced sympathetically and could do nothing but wait until his brother was finished being sick. Dean listened for the phone to be picked back up.

"Sam? Hey, Sam, pick up the phone."

He heard ugly hacking and what sounded like his brother fumbling with the cell.

"D'n? 'M still here."

"Yeah, you all right?"

There was a long pause, as if Sam were trying to decide what the right answer was.

"I threw up."

Dean couldn't help rolling his eyes.

"Just don't fall asleep in it, okay, Einstein?"

Sam mumbled something in response that Dean couldn't quite make out. He pulled off the main highway and made a U-turn, easing the car over to the shoulder as he approached the gaudy sign. He killed the engine and jumped out, phone glued to his ear as he began searching for signs of his brother.

"Hey, I'm here," Dean said into the phone.

"D-...wh-where? Where?" Sam's voice shook.

"Sam!" He hollered along the stretch of grassy road. He turned his ear back into the phone. "Hey, man, can you-" A dark form caught his attention a few yards away, huddled against the metal post of the sign. "Never mind, I see you. I'm coming." He pocketed the cell and broke into a run.

Sam was lying with his back against the giant post, legs sprawled limply in front of him, one arm hung between the thighs of his jeans and the other held his phone balanced in the palm of his hand. Head rolling against the metal, eyes at half-mast, and mouth lolling open in the throes of unconsciousness.

Dean rushed forward, fell on his knees beside his brother, and cupped Sam's face in his hands.

"Sam?" He felt a slight tremor run through Sam's body and suddenly wondered how long his little brother had been wandering around in the cold. "Hey, Sammy? Look at me."

Sam's eyes blinked open in confusion, finally coming to rest on his brother's face. "Wha'?" He winced and swallowed before his eyes slipped shut again.

"Hey, Sammy? You with me?"

"D'n?" Sam finally squinted up at him. His eyes widening in disbelief, glancing around skeptically like he wasn't sure what he was supposed to do. Dean refused to stop and acknowledge the prick of guilt - refused to believe that Sam wasn't used to people showing up to take care of him. Wasn't used to _letting_ people take care of him, anymore.

"Yeah, it's me, man."

"Don' 'member getting here," he sounded genuinely upset - frightened - Dean rubbed a reassuring hand down along his arm."Y-you don' do that," Sam mumbled, eyes full and wet.

Dean's wall was beginning to crumble, panic filling the cracks. _If Sam was in this much pain…_

"Do what? Sam what's a matter? It hurt that bad?" Sam's head dropped to his chest and long bangs fell in front of his eyes. Dean flipped a few unruly strands out of the way with his thumb.

"N-nuh," Sam shook his head and groaned at the movement.

"Easy," Dean soothed.

"Don' call me…S'mmy…'nymore," he whispered like he was telling Dean a secret.

Dean swallowed uneasily. He hadn't realized how automatically it slid off his tongue - an unconscious instinct in response to his little brother's distress. But Sam was right. The nickname was a fond memory Dean's little brother would never outgrow. But Dean hadn't been feeling very affectionate lately. He didn't think Sam had even noticed the absence.

"C'mon," he wrapped both hands around Sam's biceps and tugged, careful not to jar his head, which was sporting a pretty gorgeous lump. Nothing too deep, at least not that he could feel under the mangy mop. But Sam's nose, chin, and undershirt were crusted with blood. A lot of blood. Dean felt an angry throb of panic in his chest. _What the fuck, Sam?_

Sam groaned as he was hoisted into the air and scrambled to find purchase, clamping an arm around Dean's neck. Apparently, his legs weren't feeling particularly cooperative.

"Dammit, Sam. Lock your knees. Lock 'em," Dean ordered.

_Good, okay, standing. Standing's good_. Dean braced one arm against Sam's chest and the other more securely underneath his shoulders. And even better, now they were moving towards the car. But a moment later, Sam began whimpering, his eyes rolling back in their sockets and his body pitching forward, legs going limp as spaghetti noodles.

"Gotta stay with me here, man. C'mon." Dean braced his legs and supported his brother's dead weight. "Sammy, you hear me?"

_He couldn't hear anything_.

Nothing except the incessant whine that had hiked up a notch or eight and now his vision was blurring gray around the edges - plus the spinning. Scenery voluntary rearranging itself was never good. He _had_ been hurting, now he was just numb and desperately wanted to sleep.

_Sleep. Sleep sounded like heaven_.

"Hey! I need you to open your eyes for me, okay?"

He felt himself falling and then suddenly he wasn't. It was like bungee jumping and the brutal yank when you reach the end of the rope. He felt a rough hand clasp his jaw and give it a shake. The movement jolted him back to awareness. Sam only wanted to close his eyes for a moment, but the voice and the hand gripping his jaw wouldn't let him.

"Sonovabitch," he heard someone growl. _Dean_. He needed to stay awake for Dean. He needed to pull himself together. He tried lifting his head and begrudgingly cracked open his two-ton eyelids.

"Good. That's it, Sammy," Dean praised. "Hey, you with me now?"

Sam managed a miserable nod and squeezed his eyes shut, trying to block out the merry-go-round of Dean heads all vying for his attention. His stomach lurched and…_oh shitshitshit_.

Dean's hand slid down to where his jawline met his neck. Checking his pulse. Sam swallowed again which was far more difficult with his brother's hand pressed against his throat.

Apparently, Dean noticed because he stopped pressing. "Sam," he asked warily as he pushed back the unruly mess of sweaty hair. "You gonna throw up?"

Sam panted, squeezing his eyes shut and gulping more urgently. He was freezing and sweating and the ringing in his ears wasn't helping.

He felt his heavy head drooping, brushing against smooth leather, sliding down to brace against Dean's warm chest. He felt Dean's hand drop onto the back of his neck, pressing lightly and really wished he could just pass out already.

"Sammy? Dude, if you need to puke, better get it over with, 'cause I don't have any bags in the car."

No. No, he _really_ didn't want to. He felt his throat working, the involuntary reflex desperately trying to hold it back. He tasted old blood - stale copper coated the roof of his mouth. He gagged on his next swallow, fingers bunching spastically in the fabric of Dean's jacket.

"Whoa, whoa, okay. Hang on." Suddenly, as if on cue, Dean was gripping his shoulders and bodily spinning him to hang over his arm. Sam felt a firm hand pressing against his back as Dean quickly lowered him to the ground.

"Okay, you're okay," he soothed when Sam leaned over to cough into the grass.

_God_, he felt awful. Weak and blurry and his head felt like a construction site. Stalks of grass wavered dizzily beneath him like billions of marching ants.

He hadn't remembered why he hurt, just remembered wishing it would stop – but it wouldn't because..._'cause you deserve it_.

He remembered swimming out of the darkness - feeling confused, panicked, and sick…wanting his brother.

But he couldn't have him _because...Dean was gone. Wasn't coming back and its all my fault. My fault. _

He remembered the terrible loneliness clogging his throat, so thick he couldn't breathe, suffocating blackness blanketing his mind. _Damn_, he missed his brother. Just wanted to hear his voice again. Teasing him, laughing with him, yelling at him, comforting him.

Sam knew it was pathetic.

But that didn't stop him from tugging the cell out of his pocket and dialing the number he knew would ring out to voicemail. But it was better than nothing, providing him a fleeting moment of comfort.

And then, instead of the curt, _this is Dean, leave your name, number and nightmare after the tone, _there was a voice. His brother's voice.

_Dean_.

On the other end.

"_Yeah."_

And he'd gone numb. Considered ending it for the thousandth time. Because wasn't that just like his fucked up brain? But then the voice had deepened with a concern so specific to his big brother - angry, worried, and fiercely protective all at once - you couldn't tell one emotion from the other.

"_Sam, can you hear me?" _

And then he'd remembered. He wasn't alone anymore.

_Dean was back. _

He'd held onto the phone for dear life, had been frightened it might actually shatter beneath his grip, but that voice on the other end – Dean reassuring him, ordering him to listen. Dean would find him. He was there for him. And even if it wasn't true, if it was just his screwed up mind playing tricks again…he didn't care.

He just didn't fucking care anymore.

"De-" Sam gasped, emotion and nausea choking him, overwhelming him, whirling him back into the present. "Dean…" He pawed at his brother's jacket, trying to find a handhold before leaning over to retch again.

"S'okay Sammy, I gotcha." Dean wrapped his arm a little tighter. "Just get rid of it, huh?"

"Nuh…"

"Don't argue. I'm not sticking you in my car while your face looks like that."

Sam scrunched up his nose and swallowed. He looked like maybe he wanted to say something else, argue another point. Instead, he lurched over Dean's restricting forearm and emptied his stomach.

Dean empathetically turned his head away, trying to block out the sounds of his little brother's hurling and concurrently attempting to keep his own dinner where it belonged.

Sam took his dear-sweet-time heaving his guts up and Dean had to shift his position more than once to keep his legs from falling asleep. Eventually, he felt Sam sagging.

"You done?" Dean ventured cautiously.

Sam groaned and slumped back against Dean's chest.

"I'll take that as a yes," Dean decided for both of them. "Okay, let's get going. Get you outta here." He gripped Sam's biceps and began hauling them both up before Sam struggled out of his grasp, ass plopping back down on the damp grass.

"Nuh," he slurred as he cradled his head.

"English, Sammy. Flintstone grunts aren't gonna cut it anymore, tonight." Dean rolled his eyes and knelt beside his brother.

"N-need to...lie down. 'M tired. Jus'…jus' for a minute…"

"Hey, Sam," Dean gently patted his brother's overly warm cheek. "You can lie down in the car, okay? Not yet. Help me out here."

"Mmm," Sam hummed. He turned watery eyes up at his brother. "D'n?"

"What, Sam?"

"No hospital."

"Don't think that's up to you, kiddo," Dean sighed.

Sam blinked slowly, once, then twice. He didn't understand. A few frustrated tears escaped and trailed over his cheeks. "Please, D'n…no hospital," he repeated as if Dean just hadn't heard him the first time.

"Sammy," Dean began gently. "Let's just get you in the car for starters, huh?"

Sam swiveled his head in confusion, trying to look over Dean's shoulder without much success. "B-brought…the 'pala?"

"Yep, sittin' right back there," Dean smiled in confirmation and cupped a hand around the back of his brother's lolling neck.

Sam's chin dropped to his chest as he clenched fists of muddy grass and nodded woozily. "M'kay…yeah, 'kay, D'n."

Panting with effort and renewed determination, he pushed himself to his feet while Dean offered his shoulder for support.

By the time they finally made it back to the car, Sam was puffing air like a locomotive. He was drenched with sweat, hair clinging untidily to his neck, and his face was a pallid shade of green. But he'd managed to stay conscious all the way to the car and Dean was beyond grateful. Lugging the kid's heavy ass around wasn't exactly on his list of favorites.

At first, Dean tried to balance his brother against the side of the car while he rummaged for the keys jammed in his pocket. Sam's eyeballs rolled in their sockets before he collapsed forward, head smashing into Dean's chest.

"Whoa, okay," Dean rushed to right them both and recover his balance. "Geez, Sam," he grunted as he caught Sam under his arms and lifted him back up against the car. Dean silently yearned for the "tall and lanky" days. His brother had put on _at least_ twenty pounds of muscle - he was built like a friggin' bull. Sam was draped over his shoulder, limbs trembling as he struggled to stay on his feet. Dean was forced to sandwich his brother between himself and the car to keep him from face-planting while he hunted for the keys and unlocked the passenger's side door.

Sam whimpered against Dean's shoulder, desperately fisting at his shirt. Dean took a moment to rub his back, trying to soothe some of the pain. "Hey, hey, you're all right, Sammy. I gotcha."

Sam's features smoothed as the tension gradually dissipated and his body went boneless. He was out cold.

"All right, here we go," Dean coaxed as he maneuvered Sam inside the door and settled his long limbs down on the worn leather. Dean removed his jacket and tucked it around his unconscious brother. He slid behind the wheel and momentarily rested his palm against Sam's forehead, worriedly noting the feverish body temperature. He was far too pale and the blood was really scaring Dean. The confusion, lack of coherency, the clinginess - this wasn't good. Dean's mind was made up.

He needed an explanation. But first, Sammy needed help.

"Sorry, little brother."

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**TBC...**

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**Would appreciate your thoughts if you have a moment :) Thanks for reading! **


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: So here's the final bit. Just wanted to take a moment to say thanks to everyone for all of the lovely reviews and comments! Totally made my day and I promise I'm going to thank/reply to everyone individually when I get a moment... you guys are awesome :) I certainly hope you enjoy the conclusion! **

**- ****I do feel I should note that the ending, though not necessarily warm and fuzzy, was appropriate considering everything that happened in S4 and the difficult experiences each brother endured while they were apart. Hopefully it doesn't disappoint! Okay...go read! **

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The pull was too strong. He couldn't hold on. Gasping, he relinquished the power and felt the electrical surge draining from his veins. He doubled over, resisting the urge to cradle his head.

The demon's laughter screeched in his ears. Taunting him. Mocking his weakness.

"Sam Winchester," it howled between gritted teeth. "They said you were _something_." A vicious smile split open to reveal bloodied gums. "I'm still waiting for the punch line."

Sam's nostrils flared as he slowly straightened his spine. Ruby's eyes flicked uncertainly from Sam back to the demon. She held the knife firmly against its throat, prepared to shish-kabob at a moment's notice.

All tied up and no place to go. But the demon didn't seem worried. In fact, he seemed to be enjoying himself.

"It's like driving by a wreck…you can't stop looking," the demon snarled, tickled pink that he was ruffling the youngest Winchester's feathers. Sam's chest heaved with fury as he took a threatening step forward. "I can sit here all fucking night, baby boy," it cooed as it thrust its neck towards him - daring him. "You can have your bitch slice my arteries, you can chant and pull until your brain melts, but you still won't have answers."

"You sure about that?" Sam sneered, lips twitching with rage.

The demon shot him a sinister grin, "One-hundred fucking percent."

"Good," Sam smiled. "Go to hell."

He closed his eyes, searching once more for the darkness inside the host. He pushed past the frantic thudding of the human heartbeat, the rise and collapse of tissue as lungs pulled in oxygen – he dug deeper. Searching, digging and…_ah_.

_There you are_.

Ignoring the crippling surges of pain, he latched on, his mind a steel trap snapping shut upon its victim. The demonic force writhed and screamed, violently struggling to get free. Sam concentrated every molecule of his being on pulling. The demon was weakening - he could _feel_ it screaming at him, savage hysteria fighting him tooth and nail as it anchored itself inside its meat suit.

It had to be soon. _So close_. A metal spike was steadily ramming deeper and deeper inside his skull. Jolts of electricity throbbed in his veins as he struggled to ride it out. His lips and chin were wet, dripping, sticky. He could feel the thick liquid oozing down his neck. Still, he refused to let go.

"Sam!" A frightened voice was shouting his name - an insect buzzing in his ears. The darkness momentarily slipped from his grasp at the distraction. "Sam, stop!"

_No. _He was too close.

"It's too strong," the voice cried. "Just let it go."

"No!" His voice boomed, rough and raw and powerful against his throat. He summoned the last dregs of his strength.

_Concentrate. _

His head was going to explode any second, blackness swirling around the edges of his weaving vision, threatening to topple him. But not until he finished it. He could still save the man.

With a final shove and an enraged cry of despair, the demon fled and black smoke geysered from the victim's mouth. Sam crushed his hand into a fist and pulled with everything he had, muscles straining against the building pressure.

It was like draining a tub of water. The last tendril hadn't even vanished before Sam collapsed in a boneless heap on the floor.

A moment later he was buoyed up from the pleasant numbness by frantic slaps stinging his cheek. His eyes popped open and Ruby's face swam into view. She looked _pissed_.

"What the fucking hell is wrong with you, Sam?" She landed another slap for good measure. "I told you it was too strong. I told you to stop. Now look what you've gone and done to yourself!" She gave him a disgusted shove. "Why the hell didn't you listen?"

"'S he…'live?" He was trying to speak around a glob of molasses. His deep-fried brain was still playing catch-up.

"No, jackass. He's dead. No thanks to your martyrdom complex. We never even left square one."

The disdain in her voice bounced off of him like a rubber ball. It didn't matter. He'd failed. Another innocent victim - gone. Nearly killed himself for nothing. _What the fuck else was new?_

_Why had it been so damn hard?_

Everything hurt. White-hot pokers skewered his head the moment he lifted it. _Nope. Okay, plan B_. He rolled onto his side and immediately started gagging, his body protesting the abrupt movement. Eventually, he managed to inch himself into a sitting position.

"It's gonna be days before you're strong enough to interrogate a damn tick," Ruby scowled as she propped his shoulders. "That's wasted time we can't afford right now, Sam."

Sam ignored her bitching and lowered his head down between his knees, panting through the agony. A stream of blood suddenly gushed from his nose. He swiped at the liquid in a panic, terrified breaths stuttering in his chest.

_There had never been this much before_...

His hand wasn't doing anything except smearing the crimson all over his face. He lifted the hem of his shirt, pressing it beneath his nose, desperately trying to ignore the way his hands wouldn't stop trembling.

"Fuck…" His stomach flipped sickeningly as the blood continued to flow in sluggish rivulets, soaking his undershirt. He closed his eyes and swallowed, battling the urge to throw up…or pass out…or both.

"Well," Ruby's voice filtered in above his head. She rose from her crouch and crossed her arms. "I hate to call it a night when the night's barely started. But you're a mess. And your brother's probably itching to do a little midnight therapy session so-"

"No," Sam winced at the mention of Dean, remembering how he'd promised himself he wouldn't do anything stupid – getting his brother back was the reason he'd originally agreed to this thing. Sam sagged with relief when he pulled the soft material away from his nose and realized the blood was finally clotting. "He won't be back for a while. Trust me."

"Well, either way we need to-"

She never got to finish.

The door to the small shed flew open, shattering into a million pieces as three figures descended from the darkness.

"Ruby!" Sam cried as he struggled to his feet. One of the demons tackled him back to the ground as the other two lunged for his companion.

He heard a scream and crackle of electricity as she evened the odds behind him. Sam jammed an elbow into his attacker's gut. The man grunted and lost his grip as Sam rolled on top of him, landing a brutal punch to his jaw. Blood splattered from the man's mouth, his arms flailing for a handhold.

Sam raised his fist, preparing for the deathblow when the back of his skull exploded with fireworks as metal connected with bone. His vision blackened and before he knew what was happening he was falling, unable to catch himself. Splintered wood dug into his skin as his cheek slammed against the rough floor.

He must have zoned out. He saw a body drop beside him, the man's slack features wavering in and out of focus as the demonic blackness faded from his lifeless eyes.

Someone called his name.

He didn't want to get up. He _wanted_ to sleep.

_What the hell did she want, now? _

"Sam! Come on, we have to get out of here." Ruby rolled him onto his back and pulled him to his feet. He nearly crashed headlong on top of her as the walls danced in circles around his head.

"Let's go," she urged, pulling him out of the shed into the cool night air. "Listen, Sam," she braced his shoulders, attempting to steady him. "We need to separate. It's too dangerous to be seen together right now." Sam stared at her lips, uncomprehending as his vision continued to slide in and out.

She reached a hand behind his head and Sam couldn't help the hiss of breath when her fingers brushed over a tender lump. She winced, looking indecisive. "Just call your brother, all right? He'll come get you." She glanced nervously over her shoulder and gave him a sympathetic look. "I'm sorry, I have to go. Call your brother."

Sam was about to ask her what she meant. He'd lost his brother. How was Dean supposed to find him?

Maybe he'd climb out like their dad…

Sam would've laughed. But he was afraid if he opened his mouth he might start crying.

When he glanced up, he was alone.

He fought the rising panic clutching at his chest. An icy wind sent shivers prickling over his exposed skin.

_What the fuck was he doing alone in the woods?_

He picked a direction and staggered towards the trees, head throbbing, stomach boiling, vision blurring as he struggled to stay conscious and make it back...

_Back to where?_

He couldn't remember if he was supposed to care if he died tonight.

* * *

"My brother took a pretty good knock to the head."

Dean glanced back to where he'd left Sam slumped in a row of waiting chairs, already half asleep. He stared daggers at a middle-aged woman and her zit-faced son glaring suspiciously at the gigantic unconscious man sprawled beside them.

The nurse handed him a clipboard and the procedural forms with a curt, "Fill these out, please."

"Any idea how long it's gonna be?"

She didn't even glance up. "Shouldn't be more than an hour. You have a few people in front of you. Best I can do right now."

"Yeah, I get that. But-" Dean flicked his eyes down to the name tag adorning her breast pocket. "Grace," he continued, blinking down at her with mournful eyes. "He's hurting bad. Any chance you could-"

"Listen, sir," the woman interrupted with the bored efficiency of someone who dealt with excuses and bribery on a daily basis. She scrubbed a finger across her nose and adjusted her black-rimmed glasses. "If you could please take a seat, we'll be with you as soon as possible.

Dean sighed irritably and ran a hand through his hair as he dug a pen out of the flowery pink cup holder. "Thanks." He turned, glancing once more at Sam's graying face and turned back to the counter. "Hey, you have a puke-bag or something?"

She quirked her penciled eyebrows up at him in question. As if on cue, Dean heard Sam moan softly behind them.

Dean shrugged. "His stomach's still pretty screwed up." She handed him a plastic emesis basin over the counter.

"'Preciate it," Dean smiled and he could've sworn her lips un-puckered a millimeter.

He carefully positioned the basin in his brother's lap and sat down to sort through the paperwork.

Sam stirred and Dean felt a tug on his jacket as Sam struggled to push himself upright in the chair. "D'n? Wh're we?"

"ER. You hit your head."

"Huh?"

"Yep. Found you passed out against a signpost. Care to fill me in?"

"I…um…huh?"

"Yeah, okay. Maybe later."

"Don' wanna be here," Sam whispered.

"Well," Dean scrubbed a hand over his face, exhaustion tugging at him. "That's tough, Sam. I just wanna make sure you have a few eggs left to scramble up there, all right?"

Sam stared, glazed eyes slowly swiveling the room as his clogged brain struggled to make sense of everything.

"D'n," Sam scrunched up his nose and glanced down in confusion at the basin sitting in his lap. "M'head hurts."

"I know it does," Dean reached over to squeeze Sam's shoulder. Kid looked friggin' miserable. "We're gonna get it taken care of. Don't worry, man."

"Yeah, 'kay." His words were sliding together in that blurred, drunken way that made Dean's chest constrict with anxiety.

"Yeah," Dean breathed. He couldn't help the lump settling in his throat. Who'd been there when he hadn't? Who'd patched Sammy up and plied him with painkillers? Who'd made sure he didn't pass out on the cold bathroom tile when he couldn't make it back to the bed? Who'd been there to reassure him that everything would be better in the morning or forced him to the hospital when it wasn't?

Dean winced as the black knot of guilt coiled a little tighter in his gut. Because he knew the answer to all of those questions. No one. Sam had made do by himself. Because he'd had to - because Dean had been too selfish not to let him. And the realization made his stomach churn.

Speaking of which, Sam's throat was doing that bobbing thing again, head pitching and lolling against the white-washed wall.

"Hey, Sammy?" Dean cupped his hand around the back of Sam's neck, trying to steady his wobbling head. Sam opened bleary eyes, blinking up at Dean like a damn baby owl.

"D-…D'n?" Sam's face scrunched in discomfort even as he leaned into his brother's touch. "Where…we?"

"ER." So they were back to that again. "Don't worry," Dean sighed. "I'm taking care of everything. Just try to relax."

"Yeah," Sam squinted, looking like he'd just sucked on a lemon. "Yeah…um, Dean?" Sam swallowed, wincing against the harsh florescent glare before squeezing his eyes shut.

"Oh, here," Dean took off his jacket and tried to pull it up around Sam's head to block the light. But Sam shook his head urgently and pushed him away, swatting weakly at Dean's hands. Dean couldn't help the sharp ache that flared in his chest at the rejection. He laid the jacket over his knees and was turning back to the forms when he heard a choked groan.

Sam abruptly doubled over and started retching into the basin on his lap. Dean sighed and risked settling his hand on his brother's back while Sam tried his best to vomit up his stomach lining. At least he was too busy being sick to push Dean's hand away.

"Take it easy, kiddo," Dean soothed. Sam was gripping the plastic so hard his knuckles had gone bone-white underneath the skin. "You're all right."

The woman sitting beside them cringed in disgust and shooed her son over a few more seats. Dean shot her a nasty look but didn't say anything. Sam wasn't exactly lucid at the moment, but if he were, Dean knew he would've been sufficiently mortified over the lack of privacy without big brother defending his dignity.

As the heaving finally tapered off, Sam collapsed against the chair and the basin subsequently slipped from his grasp. Dean couldn't help grimacing as he hurried to balance the container and move it as far away as possible.

"Sucks," Sam slurred as he leaned his elbows on his knees, inhaling shaky breaths through his nose as he clutched at his head. Dean slid his hand around the back of his brother's neck, giving him a gentle squeeze.

"I know it does. But that's why we're here, Sammy. We're gonna get you fixed, good as new, okay?"

"Sir?"

Dean scowled up at the nurse who had emerged from behind the reception desk and was now standing over them with her hands on her hips and her forehead wrinkling with concern.

"If you'd like to follow me, I think we ought to go ahead and get him checked out. You're right. He doesn't seem to be doing very well," her eyes trailed over to the discarded basin before once again taking in the sight of his brother. Dean realized she was eyeing the blood decorating Sam's shirt for the first time.

_No shit, lady. _

Dean plastered on a grateful smile and curled a protective arm around Sam's shoulders, pretending he was completely oblivious to the fact that the nurse only wanted to move them along so they wouldn't freak out the other visitors.

Sam kept his eyes stubbornly closed as Dean helped him to stand and began leading him down the hallway, following the squeak of the nurse's shoes.

"Wh'…where we goin', D'n?" His little brother's watery voice reminded Dean of a much younger Sammy. He smiled in spite of himself and patted Sam's shoulder.

"Just gettin' you fixed up, man. Nothin' to worry about."

"Go on in," the nurse gestured to a tiny room along the expanse of hallway. It reminded Dean of a dentist's office and smelled of chalky latex and industrial bleach. He wrinkled his nose in distaste. Sam glanced over his shoulder at the nurse as Dean sat him down on the exam table.

"Dean, I don' wanna be here," Sam's breath hitched as he turned desperate eyes up at his brother, verging on panic. "We should go. S'not…s'not…" he trailed off, his eyes frantically bouncing from wall to wall before finally returning to his brother's face. They were filled with tears. " D'n, p-please can we go?"

"Hey, Sammy," Dean took his brother's face in both hands, gently thumbing the feverish skin. "You're gonna be fine. M'kay? I'm right here." He smiled as Sam's breathing gradually quieted. "And I promise I won't let the doc stick you with anything pointy unless he gives you a dumdum."

"Friggin' jerk," Sam huffed as he batted Dean's hands away from his face, albeit uncoordinatedly. He swallowed audibly and rubbed his wrists, muttering, "okay" to himself a few times.

An hour later they were heading back to their room. A concussion, a plethora of busted blood vessels, and slight case of dehydration – but Sam would live. He was cleaned up, bandaged, _and _the doc had pumped him full of the good stuff.

Dean quietly hummed along to the radio while Sam stared at the roof of the car, seemingly awestruck. His mouth hung slack and Dean noticed the bleary hazel's blinking slower and slower.

"'S a goo…good car," Sam smiled, rolling his head in Dean's direction as though waiting for his brother's affirmation of his observation. Dean nodded and kept his eyes on the road.

"Ss'able,"

"Come again?"

"'S s'thable," Sam said, his voice pitching as he patted the side door, attempting to get his point across.

"Stable?"

"Mmhmm," Sam hummed. He closed his eyes and leaned his head against the cool glass. "Missed it. Missed this…'lot."

Dean cleared his throat, palms moistening. He wasn't ready for this.

Sam didn't open his eyes, but he reached over and placed a heavy hand on Dean's arm. "You're stayin'?" Sam inhaled a few shaky breaths, waiting for his brother's reply. "No Hell…t'morrow?"

Dean's jaw clenched as he blinked back the moisture pricking behind his eyes. "Yeah," his voice grated like sandpaper. "I'm staying right here."

"'Morrow…too?" Sam's voice was barely a whisper.

"Yeah, Sammy. Tomorrow, too."

"'Kay." And that was all his little brother needed. Sam nuzzled down contentedly into the seat, hand slipping from Dean's arm as his breathing evened out in sleep.

Dean didn't have the energy to keep him awake. By the time he pulled into the motel parking lot and roused Sam long enough to convince him it was time to get out of the car, his brother was so exhausted he couldn't even slur together a coherent sentence.

Dean was nearly at the end of his rope by the time they finally reached the door to the room. Sam's legs were basically jello, flailing limbs struggling to hold his weight and he'd tried to lie down on the pavement at least three times. _Yeah_, Dean would save the third-degree for a little later.

He didn't bother trying to change Sam out of the filthy clothes, just shucked his boots in the corner and lowered his brother into bed. Sam was out before his head hit the pillow.

Dean set the alarm to go off an hour later and collapsed on his own mattress.

* * *

_Asshole_, Sam thought as he was rudely jolted into awareness, the reverberating honk of a fourteen-wheeler bouncing around his skull. His head pulsed with pain, protesting as he rolled onto his stomach to smoosh his face into the cotton.

"How you feelin'?"

A bird chirped a tune like it was going out of style just outside the window and Sam envisioned blasting its cheery goddamn beak off.

"Like shit," he mumbled around a mouthful of pillow.

"Sounds about right," Dean agreed. Sam heard a soft clink as a glass was placed on the nightstand. "This'll help."

Without lifting his head from the comforting cotton cocoon, Sam held out his hand and closed his fingers around the cool glass. Eyes squeezed tightly against the filtering sunlight, he rolled onto his side and downed the concoction in four gulps.

…And suddenly wished he'd sipped. Dean placed a firm hand on his shoulder. "Hold it down, Sam. You've done enough chucking already."

Sam had to swallow a few times, but did as he was told.

"Good. We're making progress," Dean praised, voice thick with condescension.

Sam groaned but finally managed to scoot up, rubbing grit from his eyes and smacking his lips around the road kill rotting in his mouth. He scratched at his chest, his skin irritated by the hardened crackling material covering it. He glanced down at his t-shirt and gulped.

Blood.

His blood.

Last night.

The demon had…_oh…fuck. _

"'M gonna take a shower."

"Good idea. Holler if you need anything." Dean tossed him a pair of jeans and a clean shirt. Sam managed to avoid eye contact and only staggered once as he shuffled his way to the bathroom.

When he emerged, hair dripping and scalded skin flushed with heat as hot as he'd been able to stand, Dean was sitting at the table at the far corner of the room pretending to stare at Sam's laptop.

Sam toweled his hair and wiped the beads of sweat from his face and neck, gingerly pressing a finger to the goose egg at the base of his skull. Dean hadn't moved. Hadn't even glanced up at him.

"You wanna go grab some breakfast?" Sam offered. "I'm actually feeling kind of-"

"What happened, Sam?"

The question should have startled him, caught him off guard, but it hadn't. Sam was surprised his older brother had lasted this long. He stared at Dean's clenched jaw, the fists braced _casually_ on the table, the way his eyes focused straight ahead as if zeroing in on a target.

"I want to know what happened." Dean slowly swiveled his head in Sam's direction, eventually finding his eyes.

It was like he already knew.

"Nothing." Sam turned his back to his brother and concentrated on jamming the dirty clothes in his duffel.

"My ass." Suddenly, Dean was on his feet, closing the distance between them so quickly Sam didn't have time to blink. "Sam, if someone hurt you I-"

"No, Dean. It wasn't like that. Things just…"

"Just what?"

"They got out of hand."

Dean crossed his arms and raised his eyebrow that dangerous millimeter that meant Sam better start talking.

"It was an information run," Sam sighed as he sank down on the bed, massaging the bridge of his nose. "I got a call to go check something out. Seemed simple enough. I underestimated the…uh..." Sam stuttered for the right word, "-informant. Got tossed around a little. Like I said, things just got out of hand. I was stupid. But I made it out. That's it."

"Who called you?" Dean's voice was sinister.

"A contact," Sam replied as he rose to hunt for his toothbrush.

"A contact? And you didn't even think to let me know?" Dean glared skeptically.

"Yes, Dean. A contact. I _have_ made a few in the last four months."

"Well that's just peachy, Sam. But I deserve to know if you're planning on going out and fucking killing yourself. This is a partnership. That means we both get to decide if information is worth going kamikaze on!" Dean's fist angrily latched onto Sam's shirt collar, his entire body vibrating with anger.

"Dean, you took off...to a damn bar, all right? You weren't around. I made a judgment call. If you wanted a say you should've been here."

Sam regretted the words the moment they were out of his mouth, his chest clenching and coiling with guilt. Dean stared back at him, nostrils flaring. Something deep inside broke. Dean slowly lowered his eyes and nodded his head, the anger draining from his face as he wearily scrubbed a hand over his jaw. He looked exhausted. Sam momentarily wondered if his brother had gotten any sleep the previous night. Probably not. Probably stayed awake checking on him - making sure Sam's brain hadn't turned to mush.

"Dean…"

"No. No, I get it, Sam. You don't owe me anything. No explanation necessary."

Sam felt sick. And this time, he knew the nausea had nothing to do with his busted head.

The profound sadness brimming behind Dean's eyes struck him to his core. But the moment his older brother blinked, it disappeared behind a placid mask of indifference. Sam watched as Dean's shoulders stiffened, eyes hardening with resignation.

Sam opened his mouth, desperate to say something, to reach out even as he felt his brother slipping from his grasp. Once again slamming a door Sam wasn't allowed behind.

"Breakfast sounds good." Dean began stuffing clothes into his own duffel. "You finish getting dressed and we'll head out."

Sam exhaled and nodded his head, slowly tugging on his over-shirt. He couldn't look his brother in the eye.

Dean finished packing and threw his duffel over his shoulder as he headed out the door, muttering for Sam to hurry it up.

It wasn't a slam. It was only a gentle click, a quiet scrape as the chipped wood brushed over cement, and the slight clink of metal as the doorknob slid back into place. It wasn't a slam...

But it might as well have been.

Because the door didn't stay open like it usually did when Dean was outside waiting for his brother.

* * *

**End. **

* * *

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